


harlow gold & sweet surprise

by atlantisairlock



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Las Vegas, Light Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 10:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20526311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: After the heist, everyone leaves the warehouse except Debbie... and Daphne.





	harlow gold & sweet surprise

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'bette davis' eyes' by kim carnes.

It’s not that Debbie doesn’t expect it. As it is, she’s honestly surprised Tammy even assented to staying until they’d made sure Claude wasn’t going anywhere but prison for the next couple of years and all the jewels were safely fenced. The minute her share’s in her accounts and they’re in the clear, she packs her bags and goes home, without taking another look back.

And Debbie gets that. Tammy’s got children, and she’s a single mom, to boot, even if she and Eric remain on good terms and are equally involved in the kids’ lives. In the weeks before the heist she spent every spare moment on Skype with Caleb and Zoe. Debbie’s never once considered that she might linger.

But then Amita leaves, next. She’s been stuck where she is for so long, always wanted to see more of the world than the little patch she grew up in, and pulling off an audacious jewel heist sure hasn’t dampened that enthusiasm any. She declares she’s not stepping foot in America again until she sees at least forty other countries with her own eyes. She clears the warehouse of her stuff and then jet-sets right off to Paris first thing.

Nine Ball follows, after, a little closer to home. Veronica scores a full ride to MIT - of course - and Nine Ball takes her now-substantial savings, books it to Massachusetts and sets both of them up in a sweet apartment. Constance finds herself a sweet pad near NYU while she’s in the midst of applying to medical school again, and Rose buys out a storefront and the unit above it so her commute to work is literally a staircase downstairs.

Lou’s the last one to go. She hands her club over to her girls, makes sure her bike’s in perfect shape, sells basically everything else she owns, and walks away.

“You’re really leaving,” Debbie says, the morning Lou hops on and rides off into the sunrise, with no fixed route in mind except the certainty that she won’t be back for a very long time - if ever. Lou nods back, her eyes clear and back straight. “It was always the plan.”

It’s the truth, and Debbie knows it, but it still aches deep inside her, knowing that, for all their history, all the trust and loyalty strung out between them - their reunion was never going to last. There’s been too much time apart, and they’re never going to be Debbie-and-Lou again, the way they were before Claude.

In another life, she thinks Lou would have given her that cocky grin of hers and invited her to come along. In a different world, where Debbie hadn’t been enticed by the lure of _more _and lost everything for it. It’s not that world, not that life, and Lou just kisses her cheek and says goodbye - no more than that. It’s Daphne she gives an actual hug to, who she whispers to, too quiet for Debbie to hear, before she walks out of the front door for what Debbie knows is probably going to be forever.

She doesn’t ask Daphne what Lou said, and Daphne doesn’t offer the information. They both just watch as Lou revs her bike and takes off wherever she wants to go.

“You could still chase her down,” Daphne says, because this is a woman who’s used to getting what she wants, who sinks her teeth into things and grabs stubborn hold and doesn’t let go. And there’s a part of Debbie that still wants to do exactly that, because she doesn’t give up easy, either. Debbie knows something about getting what she wants.

But six years ago she tossed Lou to the side for her own selfish purposes, and then paid the price when Claude’s own selfishness reared its head, and Debbie thinks she’s tired of making excuses for self-serving tendencies. She’ll never be able to pay the debt she owes Lou, but leaving her alone and respecting her decisions might be a start, even if she can feel the loss keenly in her chest, stealing every breath she tries to take.

So she’s lost her brother, her partner, her family - the Oceans and her team both - and in return, she has millions of dollars in her bank account and sweet revenge taken, and Debbie knows it’ll have to be enough.

The first time she stepped into the warehouse, Lou told her it was a bitch to heat when the days grew shorter, and it was coming into spring then, so Debbie didn’t really get it. It didn’t feel big or drafty, especially not when the team started coming in and all of a sudden she was perpetually trying to navigate around six - later seven - other people in the space.

But now, with autumn coming in and being all alone? She gets it. Her footsteps echo when she walks around and the songs playing off the vinyls she loads onto the record player just fade, dwarfed by the space they’re surrounded by. She was in prison for years, and then she amassed a team right out of there and spent basically every waking moment with them. Debbie’s forgotten what really being on her own is like, and if she’s being frank, it sucks.

Okay, correction. She’s not alone. Debbie thinks if Danny appeared in the kitchen right then and there completely hale and healthy it would still be less of a surprise than the fact that Daphne’s basically set up shop in the warehouse and made herself at home. Two days after she swanned into the warehouse for the first time like she belonged there, she strolled right back in with two suitcases and claimed a room for herself. Debbie remembers raising her eyebrows at Lou, exchanging confused glances with the other girls, then shrugging and just continuing to coach Daphne on the plan to frame Claude.

She moved herself in without invitation, and just… carries on staying. The kitchen cupboards are full of the organic healthy shit Debbie thinks should be in a rabbit cage and not in Daphne’s bowl, and the shoe cabinet is being monopolised by five-inch heels. Debbie would be annoyed, but it’s not like they’re short on space, and at least Daphne, miraculously, picks up after herself and washes her own dishes. It could be worse.

Debbie spends… a lot of time in the warehouse, after the con. She needs to lay low, make sure she doesn’t get bitten in the ass by the jewel heist - not to mention she’s still on parole, so the cleaner she keeps her nose the better. Daphne flits in and out of the house every day, rushing around to speak to actors and writers and investors and agents, actually putting her newfound millions to good use, and Debbie lies in bed and reads, or watches Netflix, or just watches the clock and thinks.

She has fifty million dollars in a Swiss account and the biggest expense she makes for weeks is a new vinyl player from Marantz. She puts a Peggy Lee record on and lets it run, trying to conceptualise a new heist, a future for herself. She did that, in prison - closed her eyes and ran the Met heist in her mind, over and over, and thought about how good it would feel to take that first breath of freedom again, after years and years.

She was completely sure what she was going to do once she got out, and she did it. There was so much to prepare to make sure the heist went right, she didn’t even think about _after._

After’s here, now, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Daphne says to her over supper. It’s been three months since the heist and things are finally settling down for her, having confirmed the projects she wants to work on and getting her schedule sorted so she can balance life and work. She spends a little more time at home now, and suppers are slowly becoming a regular thing. Daphne waves her salad fork at Debbie, eyes narrowed. “You have _millions of dollars _in your bank account and you’re ordering Domino’s pizza in for supper. For fuck’s sake. What happened to that Debbie Ocean ambition? Look at me, I just took first-class to Kuala Lumpur to discuss a collaboration.”

_“You’re _not on parole,” Debbie points out.

“Oh, coming from the woman who robbed the Met,” Daphne snorts. “Are you really going to rot here for the rest of your life? Go out sometime. Go to a bar. Pick someone’s pocket. Live a little.”

“I’m not Constance.”

“I know. Constance is actually doing something productive with her life, cutting people up and shit.”

Debbie glares at her, and Daphne laughs, eyes sparkling. “Come on. We’ll go out to a club tomorrow, get someone to buy us drinks. It’ll be fun.”

Daphne has this way of charming people into doing what she wants. It was an asset when they recruited her for the final phase of the heist, and Debbie knows exactly how effective it can be.

And after all… why not? 

The club Daphne picks is dark and seedy and underground, the kind of place Debbie and Lou used to frequent a long, long time ago when they were first striking out on their own and running small, low-risk cons, pockets always empty. The space by Debbie’s side feels empty, hollow, and she keeps expecting to turn the corner and see a flash of blonde hair, hear a familiar laugh.

She startles, slightly, when Daphne’s hand closes around her wrist, and she drags Debbie over to the bar to pick up two jack and cokes. Debbie raises an eyebrow, accepting the glass. “Did you steal these?”

“Please,” Daphne scoffs. “Sidled up to some guy while you were staring off into space and batted my eyelashes, and now we have free drinks. Stealing isn’t the answer to everything, Ocean.” She doesn’t give Debbie the time to reply, downing her drink and setting the glass back on the bartop. “Let’s dance.”

_I’m not a dancer, _Debbie wants to protest, but Daphne’s already on the floor, surrounded by nameless, faceless bodies, all moving to a thumping beat that swells, pounding in Debbie’s ears. Daphne’s movements are fluid and more elegant than what you’d usually find in a club, which doesn’t surprise Debbie - she’s still masters-trained Hollywood’s angel Daphne Kluger, after all. Debbie feels awkward, clumsy - she was never a big fan of clubbing, and after being in jail for half a decade, she doesn’t remember how to lose herself in the lights and music any more.

“Come on!” Daphne yells, barely audible over the music. She links her arms around Debbie’s neck, giving her a hip-check. “Just loosen up, okay? Have fun!”

Daphne’s light on her feet, obviously enjoying herself. They’re there for hours and leave at two in the morning with Daphne sweating and exhausted and laughing, and she’s got an arm around Debbie’s shoulders as Debbie books them an Uber home, and it lingers, that afterimage - Daphne in the lights, lost in it, incognito, with not a care in a world, for just a moment.

_I wish, _Debbie thinks, briefly, and doesn’t finish the sentence. 

Tammy makes her first visit back to the warehouse two days after they go to the club for the first time. She gives Debbie a brief update on what’s going on at home, which Debbie expected, and then spends three hours talking to Daphne alone in the balcony of her room, which she… absolutely did not.

She isn’t sure if the uncomfortable twist in her chest is jealousy, but she pushes it away nonetheless, because it’s stupid and distracting and doesn’t make sense.

She wonders, of course. But it’s none of her business. Tammy and Daphne can talk to whoever they want, including each other, excluding her - it’s their prerogative.

But when Tammy leaves, later on, with a hug for both of them and a promise to Daphne to come back and talk again soon, Debbie lies in darkness on her bed and wonders when she managed to lose everyone she loved to something or someone else.

They don’t club a lot, after, but they do start spending more time together. Daphne’s still breaking into directing, still spending long hours at work, but they have breakfast and dinner together when they can, and almost every day they share supper over whatever looks good on Netflix that night. Debbie wakes up one morning to Daphne making omelettes in the kitchen for the first time, standing over the stove in shirt and sleep shorts, and it almost takes Debbie’s breath away, because of all the ways she thought her life would be like after the heist, this was definitely not one of them, but here they are.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Debbie says, when Daphne slides the plate of omelettes onto the breakfast bar.

Daphne snorts, bringing the salt and pepper shakers over. “Of course I can cook. Who do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, I kind of got the impression that you spent your childhood saddled with a personal chef and tutor and chauffeur, so…”

Daphne gives Debbie a very withering look, and takes both omelettes for herself, leaving Debbie with toast and a sad little strip of bacon. Debbie wisely keeps her mouth shut the next time Daphne makes breakfast.

The omelettes are delicious.

The weeks pass, and then the months, the seasons changing, sun rising, setting, over and over.

It’s routine - something Debbie didn’t have until she went to jail, which she loathed when she was there, and now… she’s comfortable, secure, safe.

_I’m not here to be comfortable, _Debbie thinks, but every day she pauses longer and longer over the truth of it, and she stops saying it to herself after a while. It’s easier than fighting her own mind every day.

Tammy comes every two weeks or so, always talking for hours on end with Daphne - mostly by the water, far from Debbie’s ears, leaving Debbie to putter around the warehouse alone with only her thoughts for company.

She finally caves, about the tenth time Tammy comes over, and asks Daphne over breakfast. Daphne just gives her a smile that doesn’t go all the way up to her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing you need to know.”

_But we tell each other everything, _Debbie wants to say, because it’s true. In the weeks that passed after it became clear they were the only two remaining in the warehouse, they’ve swapped more stories with each other than Debbie ever expected they would. She knows Daphne, now - knows her tics, her little quirks, her dreams, her hopes, her fears, her past - and the thought of not knowing this…

_Don’t be selfish, _she finally tells herself, and bites her tongue. When Daphne’s ready, if she ever is, Debbie will get to know. For now, they spend almost all their time in the warehouse together, and Daphne comes home every night. It’s enough.

Debbie’s parents died within a month of each other when she was just nineteen. She cried into Lou’s shoulder at the funerals, and visited their graves with Danny, Lou, Tammy and Rusty every year, until.

She doesn’t think she acts any different when the time rolls around again, but she forgets how eerily observant Daphne can be. She sits down beside her on the sofa one evening and prods Debbie right in the ribs, making her yelp. “Why have you been moping around again?” 

“I’m not moping,” Debbie says, dodging’s Daphne’s next chest poke. “Daph, I’m fine.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” It’s sarcastic, derisive, but Debbie hears a hint of a real question in that. Debbie’s heart clenches - she knows Daphne’s never truly felt like she belonged with the team, and the fact that the seven of them used her as part of the plan will always stay with her, even if she spends more time in the warehouse now than any of them ever did. Debbie softens her tone, feeling guilty. “I know you’re not.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong,” Daphne says. It’s surprisingly soft and gentle, the concern genuine and evident. Debbie leans back into the sofa and puts a hand over her eyes. “It’s my mom’s death anniversary on Friday. My dad’s is in three weeks.”

Daphne looks at her, expression not changing, and Debbie is deeply grateful that she doesn’t give pity or apology or anything Debbie really doesn’t want. “Are they buried nearby?”

“Yeah. Same cemetery as Danny. All the Oceans are buried there.”

“Are you going to visit?”

“I should,” Debbie says. It’s not a yes. She spent years, visiting like clockwork, with four of the most important people in her life. She doesn’t know if they went alone without her while she was in jail. Danny’s gone now, Rusty and Lou are god-knows-where - she thinks Tammy would still come, if she asked, but the thought of being there with just her instead of all of them hurts more than the thought of going alone.

Daphne’s nails clicking against her phone screen draw Debbie out of her reverie. She’s got her Calendar app open, and she’s making a new appointment for Friday. Debbie frowns. “What are you doing?”

“Making a note of our cemetery visit,” Daphne says crisply. “What time are you thinking of?”

Debbie’s throat goes dry. “Daphne, you don’t - “

Daphne holds her hand up to stop her. “Tell me if I’m overstepping, and I’ll get it. But you shouldn’t go alone, and I highly doubt you have anyone else to call on, so. My schedule’s clear, anyway.”

Part of Debbie - a pretty big one - wants to run and hide. She hasn’t visited in five or six years - she could go another year without. She could probably go for the rest of her life without, a year at a time. She could.

But Daphne is giving her this look, a piercing look with those dark brown eyes, like she expects Debbie to do better - to be better. Debbie remembers poring over the heist with Lou, that first week, looking at Daphne and thinking her airheaded, shallow, gullible, and then by some twist of fate they got to know her for real, and now Debbie knows she’s anything but. She’s been working her ass off post-heist, learning and growing and challenging herself, and Debbie’s been…

_I don’t know what you’re doing -_

“Five,” she says, voice sounding foreign, even to herself. “Evening. Works for you?”

It’s cloudy and cool at five on Friday evening, when they walk through the quiet cemetery and slow to a stop at a pair of headstones. The grave looks a little more overgrown than Debbie remembers it, the wear and tear a little more obvious. She bends to run her fingers along the engravings, two identical surnames, two identical years of death.

“You were young, when they died,” Daphne says softly, laying a beautiful bouquet on the slab. “Twenty?”

“Nineteen,” Debbie replies, still looking at the stone and not at her. “Mom was sick. Dad died of a broken heart, we always thought. Just wasted away after she died.” She remembers standing here with Lou by her side, holding her hand, so young and still raw and clueless and dreaming of something bigger, thinking about a future with Lou, thinking of forever. They’d laughed about it - about being like the senior Oceans, living their life of crime, happily ever after.

That was a long time ago, and now Debbie’s standing alone in front of twin graves, missing her parents, missing Danny, missing Lou so much she can barely breathe.

There’s a movement from beside her. Daphne kneels so she’s at Debbie’s side, so she can put a hand on her shoulder and look at the inscription too. They just stay there in silence, Daphne’s breathing even, the weight and warmth of her calming, steadying. When Debbie gets to her feet once more, her eyes are dry.

They don’t speak again until they get in the car, and then Debbie just says it, quiet. “Thank you.”

Daphne just gives her a brief smile and bumps her shoulder, and it’s really all they need.

Half a year after Lou leaves, when Debbie’s gotten completely used to Daphne’s presence pervading every inch of the warehouse, she puts two bowls of soup on the table for dinner and nudges Debbie’s foot. “I’m going to Vegas next week.”

Debbie’s heart drops into her stomach. It’s instant, instinctual, and she stares down at the steaming soup. It feels like the other shoe has dropped, after she’s been waiting and holding her breath for so long. Of course. Of course Daphne was going to leave, too, eventually - to brighter shores, to new horizons. Of course Daphne was going to find somewhere she really wanted to be, away from the memories of the heist, away from her, and Debbie doesn’t know why she’s surprised, why she’s disappointed, what she was even hoping for -

Daphne slides a plane ticket right in front of her. “Come with me?”

The train of spiraling thought screeches to an abrupt halt. Debbie picks up the ticket, examining it gingerly. “What?”

Daphne rolls her eyes, looking at Debbie like she’s an imbecile. “Come to Vegas. With me. I’m doing a recce for this indie film shoot. Everyone else on the team already knows each other. If you’re there at least I know who I can call on to go for drinks with. And it’s not like your schedule is particularly packed.”

The relief that just _surges _over Debbie makes her stomach swoop and her knees go weak. _She’s not leaving, she’s not packing her things and getting out, she’s not _-

“How long will we be there?” She asks instead, keeping her voice even with an effort. “We’ll need to book the hotel.”

“Just two weeks. Enough time for you to run a few cons in the casinos. Sounds good?”

It does. Debbie pockets the plane ticket and doesn’t realise how wide she’s smiling until half an hour later.

Vegas is… amazing. It’s been years since Debbie was in Vegas - _with Lou, _it flits across her mind, and there’s a second where her chest aches again and she can’t breathe - but then Daphne’s tossing her luggage onto the bed and running over to the massive window to look out at the view. “It’s as beautiful as I remember!”

She sounds so excited, almost childlike, genuinely delighted - a side of Daphne that Debbie thinks she doesn’t see enough. It’s infectious, and she has to smile back. “You’ve been to Vegas?”

“Yeah, I came here as a teenager to do a movie. We were on location for two months, it was the best.” Daphne grins at her, wide. “We’re going to use some of our heist money on O, okay?”

Where she stands, the sunlight streaming in, Daphne’s illuminated, eyes alight. Debbie is suddenly struck by the urge to capture that image of her and immortalise it. Daphne’s pretty - most people would say hot - and she knows it; everyone knows it. But for a moment, Debbie’s struck by just how beautiful she is - how alive. Something foreign and uncomfortable settles in the pit of her stomach, and she pushes it away as firmly as she can. “We can watch whatever you want,” she replies - did she mean to sound quite so tender? Debbie’s not sure. Daphne just laughs, sprawling onto her bed around the heft of her suitcase. “Of course we can. We’re millionaires.”

That’s not what she meant, but Debbie lies back on her own bed and doesn’t say anything more.

They do watch O, and find time to walk along the Strip and check out burlesque shows and play a bit of poker (fairly) at a casino or two, but Daphne actually has to work and she takes that seriously, which means Debbie finds a lot of spare hours alone to do what she wants. The first day she’s on her own, she spends all of it in the hotel channel-surfing and feeling discontented, and gets a judgemental eyeroll from Daphne for it when she returns to their suite that night. She feels a bit stupid for it, so she makes a point to actually get out and explore the next day.

Walking down the Strip is… familiar. It’s changed since she and Lou were running cons and cheating at blackjack and craps. She still feels empty inside, sometimes, and she’d never admit to anyone, but part of her is still waiting - no, hoping - for the thrum of a motorbike to reappear at the front door of the warehouse, for her to open it and see Lou with an extra helmet tucked under her arm, having forgiven her, wanting her by her side again, to take on everything to come their way, just the two of them against the world. It’s what she’s wanted since the second Lou drove away.

Only it’s months later, now, with radio silence on Lou’s end, and something pipes up in her mind - _what about Daphne?_

Walking alone down the crowded streets, surrounded by performers and tourists, loud and bustling, Debbie lets that fill her mind. _If Lou came back right now, if Lou offered her hand. Whether or not Daphne would have other plans, somewhere else of her own to go to - her career, or to be with Tammy. If it meant leaving her behind. It doesn’t matter that it’ll never happen, it doesn’t matter that all of this is in my head. If Lou asked, what would I do?_

_What will I do?_

She never finds a satisfactory answer. Not to that and not to a lot of other things either. When they return from Vegas, Debbie a lot more pensive than before, Daphne puts on a shitty teen drama and pours popcorn into a bowl and drops herself into the sofa. Without reserve, she rests her head against Debbie’s shoulder and sighs. “I miss them.”

“The team?”

“Yeah,” Daphne says softly, gaze far away. “I know it sounds stupid, but there were so many moments in Vegas when I thought, like, _oh, Constance would totally steal that guy’s watch, _and _Nine Ball would destroy that braggart playing pool, _and _that looks like something Rose would have designed, _I mean - I barely got any time with them. I wanted more. I came because I was lonely and friendless, you know? I just… wanted more friends. I wanted us to stay a team.”

_I know, me too, I wanted that, _Debbie thinks, and then - _what about Tammy, she comes to be with you, she comes for you, you’re always together when you’re not with me,_ but doesn’t say any of that out loud, instead opting to be teasing. “What, I’m not enough for you?”

Daphne moves back, sitting up straight, looking right at her with her head slightly cocked. Something flickers in her eyes, and Debbie is suddenly keenly aware of how right it felt to have Daphne leaning against her, how she already misses that feeling. She’s just sitting there with this expression on her face that Debbie can’t read, and that’s so - unfamiliar, now; she’s been spending months feeling like she knows Daphne inside and out. Her head is beginning to hurt, the tension so confusing, so thick in the air -

“Sure you are,” Daphne finally says, measured and neutral. She leans back and rests her legs on Debbie’s lap, nodding at the television. “Let’s watch this stupid show.”

Debbie obediently turns to the screen, but it’s hard to pay attention. All she can focus on is Daphne’s weight in her lap, her even breathing, the warmth of her body beside Debbie. The feeling of being at home.

New Year’s rolls around and they have a very low-key countdown and celebration in the living room, because Daphne says she’s pretty sick of having to make appearances at idiotic parties with her witless co-stars. New Year’s should just be champagne in quiet peace, she says, so that’s what they do, with the official countdown on the television and a whole bottle of Dom Perignon Debbie swiped on her last shopping trip. They clink their glasses when the ball drops and drink, getting tipsy on the good stuff.

“Well? What’s your wish for the upcoming year?” Daphne asks, grinning at Debbie. “I’m wishing for more decent directing gigs. And maybe for an Oscar.”

And she’s already regretting it the moment the words pass her mind, but Debbie blurts them out before she can stop herself. “I wish Lou would come home.”

The second the sentence hits air Debbie already wants to take it back. She doesn’t, not really - she _doesn’t. _She wants Lou to keep exploring the world and doing whatever the hell she wants on her bike and she doesn’t want to ask more from Lou than she’s already given. She turns to Daphne desperately, to take it back, but Daphne’s already smiling up at her, although it doesn’t seem to reach her eyes. “You really should go out there and find her, you know.”

Debbie doesn’t answer, everything trapped in her spleen, and Daphne just reaches for the champagne again. “More for you?”

_I take it back, that’s not what I want, _Debbie screams, inside, but it’s too late, and something inside her laughs mockingly and says _well then what do you want?_

And an even quieter part of her, buried so deep, telling her to look around her at everything at her fingertips and answering, _this? _

One day she wakes up and thinks _I want this to be forever, _and it scares her like nothing ever has in her life. She remembers being twenty-one, drinking in a motel room with Lou after stealing their first car, half-drunk, laughing too loud, talking about the future. She remembers scoffing at the safe life, the easy life, promising to never settle - to always be fighting, always be on the move, an Ocean to the very end. She thought that would be forever and she wanted it.

And here she is -

where is she? What is she doing? What does she want?

Debbie puts her head between her knees and lets it echo in her mind.

_What would I do?_

_What will I do?_

It’s coming to almost exactly a year since the heist, and Debbie’s in the midst of wondering whether they should do something to commemorate it, when Daphne walks into the living room speaking quietly into her phone. “… I know. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll talk to you soon. Bye, Tam.”

Ah. Debbie cocks an eyebrow at her once Daphne ends the call and slides her phone back into her pocket. “Tammy?”

“Yeah. Just telling her about the trip out to LA this Friday. I forgot we’d agreed to meet again. Told her we’d reschedule.”

Debbie frowns. “You didn’t tell me you were going to LA.”

“Oh, yeah,” Daphne says. She sounds a little distant, occupied by other thoughts. “Last minute. Someone wants to talk to me about a lead role for something big. Slipped my mind.”

“I thought you wanted to stop acting and direct full-time. Wasn’t that the goal?”

“Well, we can’t always get what we want, Debbie.” It comes out a lot more bitter than Debbie thought it would, and it stuns her for a second - Daphne sounds so tired and so resigned, this tone of voice Debbie’s _never _heard. “It’s a good opportunity and I want to stay relevant and who knows, maybe it’ll open up more doors for more directing work in the future. Anyway, it’s my fucking business.”

“I know, Daph,” Debbie replies, still reeling a little. “Just - do what’s good for you, okay?”

Daphne’s gaze lingers on her, and Debbie is suddenly taken back to the day Lou left - wanting to say something, desperately, and not knowing what. Not knowing how to fix something she’d fucked up, again, without realising it.

_Say something, _Debbie thinks desperately, and everything in her is screaming _what? What is it? What do I say? What do I need to do?_

She doesn’t get the chance. Daphne just turns away. “I’m trying to,” she says quietly, and walks out of the back door, leaving Debbie alone.

Daphne takes off to LA for a week and Debbie spends all of it sinking back into her spiral of loneliness and nothingness, dreaming of going back and changing things, changing everything. The day she’s due to fly back, Tammy barges into the living room without a single word of warning. She points Debbie right to the sofa and gestures for her to sit. “We need to talk.”

Debbie raises an eyebrow. “Hello to you too. Want some coffee?”

“Milk with no sugar, and then sit the hell down. We have to talk.”

With a sigh, Debbie heads to the kitchen and gets them two coffees, then takes a seat without protest. She’s learned from years of friendship that when Tammy’s in Serious Mode it’s probably best to just listen and do as told. “Just so you know, Daphne’s not here. She’s still in LA, she’s due back tonight.”

“I know, idiot. I came to talk to _you. _Did you not hear anything I said?”

“Sorry, I just assumed, considering every time you’ve come back in the past year you’ve been sitting with her and having your secret little chat sessions,” Debbie snaps. Tammy’s eyes flash and she immediately regrets the harshness. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have - “

Tammy waves it away, although her lips are still set in a thin line. “Do you know why Daphne’s been in LA for the past week?”

Debbie shrugs. “Work. She didn’t give me many details.” 

“No, Debbie,” Tammy says, leaning forward and folding her arms. “She was scouting the place.” 

Okay, a location scout. Debbie isn’t sure why that’s any different. “Like I said, work.”

Tammy gives her a very pointed, almost scornful look. _“No, _Debbie. She was scouting the place for a good neighbourhood and nice house. Because she’s thinking of _moving to LA.”_

Nothing - _nothing - _could have prepared Debbie for the way it feels when she hears that - the way her throat goes dry, her breath catches, her chest constricts. It all rises up inside her, the confusion and hurt and rage and despair, and every thought she has gives way to a screaming chorus of _no no no _in her mind.

Her hands are shaking when she forces herself to respond. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tammy replies. Her eyes are locked on Debbie’s, incisive but giving nothing away. “Because, well, Hollywood and all that. She’s got a couple of offers, good pitches. Could be blockbusters. If she made that her home, there’d be a lot of opportunities open for her. It’d be good for her, don’t you think?”

It would, Debbie thinks. Daphne’s worked hard - Debbie knows; she’s been around to see it. If she’s got opportunities somewhere other than here, far be it from Debbie to ask her to give them up - and for what? To stay in a quiet, empty warehouse so Debbie can have someone to watch Netflix with some nights? 

Months ago, she let them all go without a word of protest, even though it broke her heart, because she was trying to be less selfish. She’s been _trying _to be less selfish, all this time. Debbie doesn’t think she could forgive herself for turning her back on that now.

Not that it does anything to quell the ache in her chest -

“You know, she’s been wanting to do it for a while,” Tammy continues, pushing past the heavy silence. “Make the move. She passed on some really promising projects. And she’s been trying. But you know her. Patience doesn’t come natural to her, and at some point, it was going to run out.”

And there’s - so much more in that than Tammy is saying, that Debbie is struggling to hear, or maybe she does, maybe she understands, she just doesn’t want to, doesn’t think she deserves it. She’s frozen, jaw clenched tight, and hyperaware of Tammy watching her with that eagle-eyed gaze. When she still doesn’t reply, Tammy frowns, putting her coffee cup on the table. “Debbie, Christ. You’re not actually _this _stupid, are you? Because it’s either that or you’re being a coward, and frankly speaking, I think the former is far more likely.”

“I thought she was with you,” Debbie says, tremulous, which isn’t a lie, or at least not entirely. Tammy rolls her eyes. “So, stupid, then.”

That stings, and Debbie can’t help herself, the words spilling out harsher than she intends. “For fuck’s sake, she spends hours with you every week, every two weeks? You drive out here just to sit with her by the water and talk about god-knows-what until the sun goes down. What the fuck else was I supposed to think?”

“Don’t be so fucking dense,” Tammy snaps back. “I live in a beautiful suburban house with two young children and draw a steady income and have an immaculate guest bedroom. If I was the one Daphne wanted to be with she’d have been gone before the first month was out. Do you have any idea how hard she’s been trying, how long she's been waiting? You’ve been stuck in your million-dollar bubble feeling sorry for yourself for months and she’s still been coming home to you every night. What the hell is your excuse?” Her eyes narrow. “Is this about Lou? Still?”

_No, _Debbie tries to say, but it’s a lot harder to lie, these days, and the ensuing lack of response is answer enough. Tammy’s tone remains terse, but her eyes soften. “Debbie. You can’t spend the rest of your life wanting something you can’t ever get back.”

“Fuck, I know,” Debbie says, raising her voice now, because _shit, _does Tammy think she doesn’t know? Does she think it’s that easy? She loved Lou for half her life, wanted to marry her three years into their partnership, only it never worked out because the call of the con kept pulling her back into strife and uncertainty, over and over again. She loved Lou even when she was screwing around with Claude, loved Lou every single moment she was stuck behind bars, loved Lou all the way up until -

up until -

until -

And it hits Debbie, finally, like a fucking freight train, what’s changed - what’s different now, after so many years, because for half her life she’s been thinking, saying, breathing, _I love her, I love her, I love her _-

“I loved her,” she says aloud. She did. Debbie loved a girl and she hurt her, she left her, and then she lost her, and she doesn’t know where Lou is now, but she’s certain about one thing - that Lou is alive, Lou is living, purposeful and present, and Debbie’s been stuck for months in a prison of her own making, thinking she knew what she wanted, ignoring what she knew to be true - for what?

For what?

She lost Lou, and that was her fault, and now she might lose Daphne too - her fault, again.

Has she really come back here, after all that? After years wasted in prison, after breaking her own heart - has she really just come full circle? It can’t be. She’s been trying to grow, to change, to move forward. She’s not the woman who walked into Claude’s home or out of prison, and she never will be again. Debbie thinks about a contract signed, about trust given and trust betrayed, about biding her time, and sets her cup down beside Tammy’s, firm. “I need a ride to the airport.”

“Disgustingly cliched and romantic as that is, and glad that I am that you seem to have finally gotten your head out of your ass, I feel like I should point out that her flight doesn’t come in for another five hours,” Tammy says.

“I know,” Debbie says. There’s more surety in her voice than there has been for months. It feels like weight is falling off her shoulders, the calm beginning to set in. She knows what she wants, now. It’s taken so much time, but she’s wasted enough, waited enough. Just a little more won’t hurt, not when she can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. She grins at Tammy. “I need to make a stop, first.”

She doesn’t actually end up meeting Daphne at the airport - Daphne’s far too visible a public figure and perpetually needs to be smuggled off the premises and taken in a secure car to her apartment, the one she legally owns but never lives in, before she Ubers incognito back to the warehouse. This time, Tammy drives them both over, and Debbie sits at the breakfast bar, fiddling nervously with the gift she intends to present. Her palms are actually sweating, and she feels like a teenage girl trying to ask her date to prom. Funny, how she’s an Ocean who masterminded and successfully pulled off the most audacious heist in recent history, and her stomach’s still turning over and over at the thought of being rejected by a girl.

But then, Daphne’s not just any girl, never has been. Debbie runs them through her head, the words she wants to say, how she wants to convey everything she feels, that she’s realised, make it count -

The door opens, and both of them turn, sharply, to look. Daphne stands in the doorway, sunglasses perched on her head, eyebrows raised. “Um. Hi?” She frowns, looking bewildered but thankfully not displeased or concerned about the technical home invasion. “What are you two doing here?”

“I wanted to pick you up,” Debbie says, trying to temper her nerves, fist clutched tight around her gift. “You’ve been away for a while.”

Daphne smiles - it’s the genuine smile she reserves for special moments, special people, the one Debbie realises has become a more common sight in the past months. “That’s… sweet. Didn’t know you were such a sap, Ocean.”

Debbie inhales, stepping forward - now or never. “If you think that was sappy, you’re going to have words about my gift for you.”

Daphne’s got millions of dollars in her bank account, probably could rake in another with just one cameo on the next box office hit, but her eyes still light up at the thought of Debbie getting her something nice. “What is it?”

Debbie doesn’t answer in so many words - just reaches over to gently take Daphne’s hand, bring it closer, palm up. She presses the gift into it, wraps Daphne’s fingers around it, so she can feel the cool metal, the irregular shape of it. Daphne opens her hand so it catches the light - a single metal key, plain and unassuming, with a simple keychain attached. She runs her thumb against the ridges and lines, looking up at Debbie uncertaintly. “Deb?”

“It’s a house key,” Debbie says, by way of explanation. “To the warehouse.”

Daphne gives her a very confused look. “… the warehouse door is electronically secured. With a password. That we have to enter into a keypad. Which is installed into the door.”

“You know there’s still a keyhole for if the electricity cuts out, right,” Tammy says.

“The point is,” Debbie continues over Tammy, tightening her grip on Daphne’s hand, around the key in her palm, and feeling something surge inside her when Daphne unconsciously reciprocates, their fingers intertwining. “It’s _your_ key. I know it’s long overdue, and I’m sorry. I wanted you to have your own key - you should have had your own key months ago. Because the warehouse - it’s your house too. Your home.” She swallows, the terror and desperate hope lingering on her tongue. “Our home. If you want it to be.”

For a long, long moment, Daphne just stands in front of her, looking up at Debbie, expression unreadable, and it wells in Debbie’s chest, how badly she needs Daphne to read between the lines, to hear everything she’s still trying to learn how to say. She thinks she might want this more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life.

“You know,” Daphne finally says, soft, tender, for Debbie’s ears only. “I really thought for a second that you were going to give me a ring.”

The ambient sounds around them seem to roar, echoing, Debbie’s heart pounding against her ribcage. “I - “ She falters, the thoughts of it swimming in her mind - _marry me, I love you, to have and to hold, till death do us part_. “Do you want - I would - Daphne, I - “

Daphne laughs, eyes bright. “No. I think I want to be the one to do it,” she replies, and steps in close and kisses her, right in front of Tammy and God and everyone else. Debbie slides her arm around her waist and pulls her closer, wanting to catalogue every second, every movement, every sensation, and never let it go. She thinks she hears Tammy mutter _finally, _and quietly let herself out so they can have some privacy, which is good - she’s not about to stop kissing Daphne for a while.

“If we’re being honest, here,” Daphne says, eventually, when their mouths aren’t otherwise occupied. “The key’s not the only thing overdue.”

The guilt gnaws at Debbie, and she takes a breath and takes hold of it, firm. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve… spent the past year being stupid. I had everything I could want in front of me, and all I could think of was what I lost. What I chose to give up.” She cups Daphne’s cheek in one hand and Daphne sighs, leaning into the touch. She looks beautiful like that, and it makes Debbie want to cry. It’s not that long ago that she would have scoffed at being so emotionally vulnerable, so sentimental, for asking for things instead of just taking them for herself, but - a lot of things have changed. And certainly for the better. “Daphne,” she says - means every word, thinks she always will. “Stay with me. Please.”

Daphne answers with another brief kiss on the edge of her mouth and her forehead pressed to Debbie’s. “Take me home?”

“Always,” Debbie promises, and lets her life begin anew.


End file.
